


The Valentine's Card

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Brothers to Lovers, Fluff, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sibling Incest, Valentine's Day, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 15:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft opens a letter in Sherlock's and John's presence. Sherlock is not exactly amused.





	The Valentine's Card

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's August but an idea is an idea :D

“Thank you for coming, Sherlock, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft gestured at the two visitor's chairs.

Sherlock let himself drop onto the left one with a sigh. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable chair. “And you couldn't be arsed to come to Baker Street because…?”

Mycroft clenched his jaws. “The kind of language you are using these days is ghastly… and I am busy.”

“Oh, sure.” Yes, Mycroft's desk was full of folders. But who knew if they did not just contain menus of his favourite restaurants? Everything to look important… Well, Mycroft _was _important. But so was he! Clients usually came to _him_!

“In any way, I need you to take care of this case… This is… Yes?” Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the interruption – someone had knocked on the door.

Anthea poked her head in. “Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t know you have visitors.”

Mycroft's PA had not been sitting at her desk when the detective and his blogger had entered after being summoned by Mycroft via phone. A guard had accompanied them from the entrance to Mycroft's office. Probably so they wouldn’t steal some pencils!

“No problem,” Mycroft said, showing something that resembled a smile.

“Yeah, it's just us,” Sherlock mumbled.

Anthea smiled. “Good morning, Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson.”

“Good morning, Anthea,” John breathed and Sherlock sighed. After all these years John still thought she would date him? Did he _ask _for having his heart broken?

She didn’t give him a second glance but focused on her boss. “I just have the mail, sir, thought you might want to see it at once.”

Mycroft waved her into the room and she handed over a pile of envelopes.

“I wonder who still sends actual letters,” Sherlock murmured. “Don't they know we have phones and computers these days?”

Mycroft raised an exasperated eyebrow at him while flicking through the mostly white envelopes. “There are things that are too delicate to…” He stopped and narrowed his eyes at an envelope that was far from being plain and white. It was in rainbow colours to be precise. All of them. All over.

John chuckled next to him. “I wonder if that's what I think it is…”

Sherlock turned his head. “Which would be…?”

“Do you really not know which day it is?”

Sherlock had to think about if for a moment. “It's February the fourteenth, and?”

“It's Valentine's Day!” John said with a laugh.

Mycroft's cheeks turned a bright shade of red. “I'm sure this has nothing to do with this nonsense,” he retorted, and Sherlock snorted.

“Yes, who would send a Valentine's Card to you?”

Mycroft threw him a glare before he put the envelope aside along with the rest of them. “Nobody. So, the case…”

“Oh please, humour us!” John said with a grin. “Open it up! Just the one! It clearly doesn’t look like a state secret.”

Mycroft bit his lip. “No, really, I'd prefer…”

“Do it already,” Sherlock demanded. It was none of his business of course who sent strange letters to Mycroft. And if it really was an admirer, who cared? It was totally unimportant. Didn’t interest him one bit but if John wanted to know it…

“Not sitting comfortably?” John asked him, and Sherlock realised that he had been sliding back and forth on his seat.

Mycroft scrutinised him and Sherlock felt his cheeks flush. “I'm fine.”

“We can get you some balm against haemorrhoids on our way back,” John teased him.

“And while we're there, we'll buy some cold cream for your black eye!” Sherlock shot back.

Mycroft sighed. “All right. For the sake of getting on with the actual problem…” He grabbed a paper knife and impatiently opened the colourful envelope to gingerly pull out the even more colourful content, which opened up by itself when he let it drop onto the desk.

“I knew it!” laughed John. “It's a Valentine's Card.”

Sherlock shot up from his chair. “From whom?!”

Mycroft winced and pulled back from his desk. “What's it to you? And there is no name on it.”

“Intriguing! That's the case we should solve, Sherlock!”

“Shut up, John.”

“Could you kindly do the same?” Mycroft put the card aside. “I will tell you now what I need you to do…”

All Sherlock could see from his place was that the text on the card was hand-written and it was signed by 'a secret admirer'. The handwriting was hard to deduce. In fact it looked as if someone had tried to disguise their handwriting, which did make sense. Or it really didn’t, because what did anyone try to gain by writing love letters (and the card was addressed to 'Dear Mycroft') and not saying who they were? How was Mycroft supposed to react to it? But was this admirer really so secret? He wouldn’t have bet on it…

“Do you even listen to me, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked in his long-suffering tone.

“Ah, I'll explain it to him on our way out,” John said, getting up. “It's easy anyway, and if _I_ understand it…”

“Thank you, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said gratefully, and Sherlock stood up as well.

“You're a real toady sometimes, you know that, John?”

The doctor sighed. “Right. Whatever you say. Come, let's not keep your brother from running the country any longer. We have a mystery to solve. Bye, Mycroft. We'll be in touch very soon.”

*****

“I really wonder who it's from.”

Sherlock didn’t have to ask him what he was talking about. “Who cares…” he grumbled, but in fact his brain had been running on full capacity since they had left Whitehall, and it had nothing to do with the boring case John had explained to him (and he had only needed half an ear to get what Mycroft wanted). But that could wait…

Who would write a love letter, and what else was it, to his brother? Not a boyfriend. Mycroft didn’t have one. There were no signs of sexual activity upon him. He was as grumpy as ever anyway. And a boyfriend would have signed the card. It had to be a man, obviously. Mycroft was as gay as they got. This old woman though, Smallwood! She seemed to have still not got that Mycroft wasn't interested in the fairer sex. Could she have written the card? Sherlock didn’t think so; it was too subtle for her. Who else? Another colleague Sherlock had never met? Someone from his brother's favourite bakery? An agent? It was fruitless… He didn’t have enough data.

“It's really strange that nobody has snatched him anyway by now.”

“Huh?”

“Your brother, Sherlock. He's smart, he's rich, he's good-looking… Okay, he's arrogant and a cold fish but you know, these people are often enough the best lays.”

Sherlock blushed furiously. “Mycroft? A good… lay? Are you mad?!”

“Well, not for me obviously. But Lestrade said something like that…”

Lestrade! Could that be?! Could the card be from him?! But they were not even in contact! “He hardly knows my brother.”

“Well, you sent him to look after him when we'd survived Sherrinford,” John reminded him.

Sherlock stopped dead. That was true… Oh God… Had Lestrade fallen for Mycroft then? Had they started to… date? Or had the DI not dared make a move on the Iceman and this was his clumsy attempt at getting into his pants now?

“I bet Mycroft knows who sent this card,” John said. “He looked as if he did. He'll call this person for sure and then whoever it is will find out what a lay he really is…”

“Stop talking about my brother like this!” Sherlock yelled and people turned their heads at them. “I mean… Shouldn’t we solve his case rather than speculating about his sexual… charms?!”

John looked at him calmly. “Very true. Let's do that, and tonight you can report it to him.”

Sherlock shook his head. “He won't have time tonight…” His brother would meet this man then if John was right…

“Ah, I don't think so. He won't be so easy to get.”

Maybe that was true. Sherlock didn’t know anything about this romantic stuff but John was an expert after all.

He had to focus now. He had a case to solve, boring or not. And tonight he would <strike>confront</strike> present the solution to his brother.

The game was on but somehow Sherlock was a bit absent-minded.

*****

They didn’t need more than an hour to solve this so-called case. Even a very distracted Sherlock could solve this puzzle in no time.

“You could text him the solution or we could drop by in Whitehall,” John suggested.

Sherlock shrugged. “No. I'll go to him when he's at home. He will expect that.” Of course that wasn't true. It was the very last Mycroft would expect from him. He would expect a text or no reply at all…

But John nodded. “Back to Baker Street then. I need a good cup of tea.”

Tea was never wrong and Mrs Hudson's was the best so they took a cab home. John had moved in with Rosie when the flat had been built up again. Rosie was in day care now as John was busy being a doctor and solving cases with Sherlock, and if their help was required at night, the girl stayed with their landlady, who didn’t sleep a lot anyway. The arrangement worked just fine.

They had just sat down and sipped at their hot Earl Grey when Sherlock's phone signalised a call. “It's Lestrade,” he said darkly.

“Oh, he will have a case!”

Or he wants to know how to best win my brother's heart… “Yes?” he barked into the phone.

_“Sherlock?”_

“Well, you've called me. Or… did you dial the wrong number?” Sherlock asked with a voice dripping with suspicion. He got up and walked out of the room, while John remained seated in his chair, calmly drinking his tea.

Greg laughed. _“Of course not. It just didn’t sound like you. Listen, if you're interested, I have a case that might be right up your alley.”_

“What is up _your_ alley, Grant?” Sherlock asked before he could think.

_“Um… My name's Greg, actually. You did remember it not so long ago. And I have no idea what you mean.”_

“It's Valentine's Day, Lestrade…”

_“And? What does this have to do with me, Sherlock?”_

He sounded thoroughly confused, and Sherlock was pretty sure he really had nothing to do with this godforsaken card. He couldn’t get any clearer without giving away that he… That he actually was what? “Tell me about the case,” he burst out, unwilling to think about the implications of his _[jealousy]_ confusion about Mycroft having an admirer.

_“Are you sure you're okay?”_

“Yes, Gus. _Tell_ me.”

And the DI sighed and soon Sherlock ended the connection. He had walked back into the living room in the meantime.

“He has a case for us. Sounds interesting.”

John got up. “Great. So? Any conclusions?”

“No. Yes. I don't think it's him. Let's go.”

*****

“Two cases in such a short time. They don't call you a genius for nothing, Sherlock.” John fastened the seatbelt of yet another cab that would bring them to Baker Street.

Sherlock waved John's praise away. If he was a genius, why couldn’t he figure out who was about to 'snatch' Mycroft to use John's word?

Lestrade had given him several suspicious glances but Sherlock had tried to behave as normal as possible, given the circumstances.

Which circumstances actually? That he had thought Lestrade was interested in his brother? How would that be a big deal? Or that he cared at all about the possibility that someone could win Mycroft's heart?

The heart he doubted even having.

What a joke this had been… Not much of a target? Sherlock knew his brother's heart was there, and it wasn't small at all. And so far, he had thought it belonged to… him…

Who else had his brother ever cared about? Who did he do basically everything for?

And now… He would give it to someone else maybe. In a totally different way! Sherlock was still his brother. The brother who had never been nice to him… The brother who hadn't even looked after him himself after this ghastly day. He should have been happy if it really was Lestrade who cared for Mycroft. Lestrade was a good man.

“But he's not good enough…”

“Did you say anything?”

Sherlock winced. Had he said this out loud? “No.”

“Oh, good. We're there. I'll pay then…”

Sherlock was already out of the car and stalking up to the house. He would take a shower now and change clothes and then he'd go to his brother. He should be at home by now. He hadn't even called to find out if they had solved his super important case. He was slipping! Or… he just had other things on his mind… No! Nothing like that!

*****

Half an hour later he was ready. When he left his bedroom after getting changed into tight black trousers and his purple shirt John and Mrs Hudson were in the living room, drinking tea.

“Ooh! Do you have a date, Sherlock?” the old lady cooed.

“What?! No! I'm just going to head over to my brother.”

“You've certainly made quite an effort,” John smirked and Sherlock blushed.

“It's not a date! It's Mycroft!”

John nodded. “Sure, sure. You know – if I was wrong and he does have a visitor, try and be polite to him, will you?”

Sherlock fumed. “I will certainly not! I mean… There will be no visitor!”

There wouldn’t be one, would there? The image of Mycroft and some faceless stranger, making out on his brother's leather couch popped up in his mind, and he immediately beat it down.

He grabbed his coat and left 221B without another word, and he almost forgot to breathe the entire cab ride long.

John and Mrs Hudson shared a long look after Sherlock had left.

“So that's what it is,” Mrs Hudson said then, nodding.

“Yes. It is what it is.” John sipped at his tea. _Go for it, Sherlock._

*****

He could see there was light in Mycroft's living room when he approached the house. He was tempted to spy through the window but he didn’t want to risk that; who knew how much his brother had improved his security since Sherlock and John had sent in Higgins' people to scare the truth about Eurus out of the politician. Which he regretted now. Like so many other things. He hadn't been very nice to Mycroft lately, the past years, for the last two or three decades, had he? Why actually? He must have had his reasons but somehow he couldn’t remember them. What he saw now when he thought of Mycroft was the vulnerable, brave man he had been in Sherrinford, offering his life so John would live. This man deserved happiness. He deserved being loved.

If he knew that, why was he feeling so miserable?

He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, grimacing at the camera above the door.

Mycroft looked surprised when he opened up. “Sherlock? Why have you come here? You could have sent me a text or… Are you all right?”

Was he? He couldn’t say. All he could do was staring at his brother. He didn’t look as if he had planned to stay at home for a lonely dinner and a glass of whiskey. He was wearing an elegant grey suit with a red tie, his hair was styled in a way Sherlock had never seen it and he was freshly shaven and rosy. He looked stunning…

“Who is it, Mycroft?” Sherlock croaked to his horror.

“Who is what? Come in – it's cold.”

Sherlock let himself be pulled into the house and freed from his coat.

Mycroft rubbed his arm. “You're freezing, little brother. Come into the living room; I've made a fire.”

So he hadn't been about to go out. “You're awaiting someone,” Sherlock stated tonelessly while they were walking through the corridor.

“Well, I thought you'd drop by…”

What? He couldn’t have known that! Oh God… He had deduced it… He had made this effort for _him_?

“Dinner is in the oven,” Mycroft continued calmly.

“For me?” Sherlock had entered the large living room and was staring at candles and glasses.

“Yes, Sherlock. For you.”

His eyes said it all. He had known Sherlock was jealous to the core. And he didn’t mind it. Quite the opposite. And Sherlock suddenly didn’t care anymore who had written this sodding card. The love in Mycroft's eyes told him that whoever it was, he didn’t matter.

“I've been struggling with my feelings for you for such a long time,” Mycroft whispered. “I would have never told you. But today… And actually even in Sherrinford… There was something…”

Yes. Sherlock had felt something in this horrible situation. Something he had quickly pushed aside at it had been so foreign and disturbing. But somehow it didn’t feel disturbing anymore. “I think I'm in love with you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft cupped his cheeks with his large hands. “That makes me so happy. Because I'm in love with you, too.” In the end he had always spoken out his feelings quite openly.

_'Your loss would break my heart.' _

_'I’ll always be there for you.'_

Sherlock had been so blind…

“Are you my Valentine?” Sherlock caught himself asking.

Mycroft smiled. “No. If you let me, I'll be your everything.”

And when they kissed for the first time, gently, tenderly, probingly, Sherlock thought that this sounded just wonderful.

*****

“More wine, love?”

Anthea smiled. “Yes, please.” She and her girlfriend Emma clinked glasses and looked each other deep in the eyes.

And when they started dancing to the love song Emma had chosen, Anthea wondered if her boss was having a nice evening as well.

When Sherlock and the doctor had left this morning, Mycroft had come into her office and looked at her. Just looked at her. And then he had nodded briefly and returned to his own office.

Anthea admired and liked him very much. He was such a smart man. But sometimes even smart men needed a bit of help. And sometimes they even needed a Valentine's Card to make the one they loved see what they were missing.

_'Good luck, Holmes boys'_ she thought when she closed her eyes to enjoy the music, the dance, and the love, and in her mind's eye she saw the Holmes brothers dancing slowly, too, smiling at one another, holding each other, just as it should be for two men who were absolutely meant for each other.


End file.
